


Promise of Safety

by Onehelluvapilot



Category: Time Scout Series - Robert Asprin
Genre: Action/Adventure, Danger, Gen, On the Run, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2020-09-26 14:54:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20391529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Onehelluvapilot/pseuds/Onehelluvapilot
Summary: Like many before him, Eugene hadn't come to Shangri La Station for the usual reasons. Though neither seeking the help of Kit Carson or fleeing an uptime threat were exactly unusual reasons either. The question was whether TT-86 would bring him to safety or only to more danger.





	Promise of Safety

**Author's Note:**

> I have a lot of problems with the Time Scout Series (mostly the misogyny) but I do love the premise and setting, so fanfiction is clearly the answer. I'm not expecting anyone to read this, but hopefully someone will!

Like many before him, Eugene hadn't come to Shangri La Station for the usual reasons. Though neither seeking the help of Kit Carson or fleeing an uptime threat were exactly unusual reasons either.

He was on edge the entire way through Primary. Not that he was worried that his fake ID wouldn't hold up; it had already gotten him out of a station, where security was much tighter than on the way in. No, it was being back within the jurisdiction of the Bureau of Access to Time Functions that made him nervous. Uptime, he could gain some protection from the assumption by those around him that he had rights. The security officers-turned-assassins that were hunting him would want to avoid the fuss of a murder investigation by the local police, so by staying in public he could stay safe. Back on station, not subject to uptime laws, Eugene was in much more danger. The officers after him could kill him in public and explain it away as him being an escaped downtimer without rights. They probably still wouldn't shoot him in broad artificial daylight, he hoped, but he was back in their domain, and the idea of that set every one of his hairs on edge.

"Gene Harrington" arrived with no luggage, which differentiated him from the other tourists but wasn't too hard to explain away. After all, he'd need a new wardrobe for his trip downtime, he clarified to the Bureau of Access Time Functions customs agent, so there was no reason to bring very many modern clothes. The agents on his tail had to check their luggage and guns through, which took longer, so he gained maybe a two minute head start. He had to take full advantage.

Eugene would only be safe on station once he got his story out. He had to make this a big enough deal that they couldn’t dare touch him. He knew the press wouldn’t listen to him, as he didn’t have any evidence, so he needed someone with lower standards for proof but who still had enough credibility so that others would believe them. As far as his mentor had told him shortly before his death, he had three options for that: Ianira Cassondra, Ronisha Azzan, and Kit Carson. 

The Cassondra of Ephesus was the most likely to believe him, especially if she had a prophetic vision about it, but she would also be the hardest to find and the least able to handle the danger Eugene brought with him. After the fiasco with Jack the Ripper last year, she had largely retreated from public life. Her fame, therefore, would offer her, and him, less protection than it might have before. And as a downtimer, she had no legal rights either, despite her notoriety. Nor did her husband or children, and Eugene could not justify putting them in danger.

Deputy Station Manager Ronisha Azzan had the greatest ability to help him. After the Bureau of Access to Time Functions had investigated her and Bull Morgan last year, they’d found her exceptionally competent under pressure and had even given her a commendation. Now in excellent standing, she held sway with the Inter-temporal Court of the Hauge and could use that influence to have the greatest impact on the situation. However, it was likely that Eugene’s enemies had predicted that he would go to her or another BATF or ITCH agent, and taken counter-measures. Azzan had likely already been informed of their version of events, and therefore poisoned against him, would be unlikely to believe or even listen to his side of the story. It was more likely that he would be arrested than humored.

With two of his options ruled out, only Kit Carson was left. Out of anyone Eugene might seek help from, the retired time scout was probably the most capable of protecting himself from the danger it might bring. His prestige, even retired, would make the assassins hesitant to attack him, and physically, his aikido skills would make him a difficult target even if they decided to do so. He had a reputation as a suspicious man, but also one who was fiercely protective of those he cared about. Several downtimers were counted among his friends, which gave Eugene hope that he might be sympathetic to his plight.

Realizing quickly that showing up in a pair of stolen jeans and a Hawaiian shirt at the high-end Neo Edo would only arouse suspicions, Eugene struck a route directly through the Commons instead of towards Castletown. The commotion caused whenever Primary cycled provided enough cover for him to slip into the crowd and ditch his pursuers back at the gate. However, while they couldn’t track him, he couldn't he see anything useful either. He needed a place of some vantage, even if he didn’t know exactly what he was looking for yet. On TT-17, he knew exactly where he would go. In Shangri La, however, he was lost.

His salvation came in the form of Ianira Cassondra’s empty stall in the center of the Commons. Her devoted acolytes still swarmed around it, though the Prophet of Ephesus had long since boarded it up, and they protested heavily about sacrilege and dishonor when he climbed up the side of the booth. From there, though, he had an excellent view above the crowd. Most of the people in it were clearly tourists, either milling about aimlessly or trying to shove their way quickly through it to Primary before the massive gate closed. Eugene had no difficulty spotting the station residents among the masses. They moved differently through the crowd, in the same way the newcomer to TT-86 knew that he himself moved. Opportunistically, slowly, efficiently. His keen eyes quickly picked out a short woman with dirty blond braids pinned close to her head. Whenever traffic moved against her, she stood still and held as firm as a bulwark. When the tide changed to the direction she was clearly trying to move, she allowed herself to be swept along in the current. With this strategy, she quickly made it to the outskirts of the crowd and slipped into an establishment called the Down Time Bar and Grill.

Eugene hopped down from his vantage point and began to follow her. He knew that his pursuers wouldn’t have needed high ground themselves to spot him up on top of the booth, but with any luck they wouldn’t be able to follow him through the crowd. Moving in the same way as the woman had, he reached the bar much faster than he would have if he had tried to shove his way through the crowd, and left less of a trail of angry tourists behind him.

Walking into the Down Time, he knew he’d found the favorite bar of the locals. There was a well-used pool table in the back and not a tourist in sight. He spotted the woman he’d followed through the crowd sitting at the bar. From this angle, he could see that she had a pistol hanging from each hip. Station weapons merchant, probably. If the relationship between the scouts and weapons experts on his own station was anything to go by, she would know Kit Carson. And hopefully, she wouldn’t blow his head off for asking about him.

Taking the seat a stool down from her at the bar, he struck up a conversation. “Interesting guns you got there. Constabulary Webleys, are they?”

"You've got a keen eye, stranger," she replied, the last word emphasized. Clearly, she did not like not knowing who he was. Too bad the knowledge would only get her hurt. Though he doubted the security officers would dare go after her when she had those Webleys on hand.

“I better have, in my line of work,” he hinted. “Millie Harriet, back on TT-17, has been teaching me all about historic weaponry.”

“You training to be a guide?” the woman asked suspiciously.

“A scout, actually. Speaking of which, you wouldn't happen to have seen Kit Carson around anywhere? My mentor, Scott Peters, told me he might be found in here and asked me to say hello for him."

The woman seemed to study him a second before replying. "Last time I saw Kit he was at the weapon’s range practicing. He’s got a key to the place, so I left him to lock up.” The veiled threat didn’t go over Eugene’s head, but he smiled as though it had. “He’ll probably be in here in not too long though. Feel free to wait and have a drink. Molly, two firewaters please,” she said to the barmaid behind the counter.

Eugene knew she was just buying him a drink to keep him close by, because she didn't trust him. He didn’t blame her, but wasn’t sure if he should take her up on it. He considered his options. Primary circled later in the artificial day here than back home, and they were dimming the overhead lights to simulate dusk outside. With the crowds going down, he wouldn’t have as much cover out there, whereas if his tail had seen him come in here, they’d already have stormed in to arrest him. He had his doubts about whether they would try to kill him in front of so many Eighty-Sixers, but also knew he couldn’t count on them fully for protection until his story got out. 

“‘ere you go, luvs,” the barmaid said as she plunked two shot glasses down in front of them. She was a downtimer then, judging by her cockney accent, probably from through the famous Britannica. That knowledge tipped the scales towards Eugene staying, as at least she would have sympathy for his plight if he had to ask for her help.

“Cheers,” the weapon’s expert next to him said, raising her glass before downing it in one go. Eugene followed suit, and true to its name, the firewater burned like nitroglycerin going down.

“Boy that’s strong,” he said with a huff as he set the now empty shot glass back down. “What’s in it?”

“Don' be askin when ya don' wanna know," the barmaid Molly replied. “Wan’ another?”

“No, I shouldn’t.” That had been a helluva lot stronger than he’d expected, and he had to keep his wits about him.

“It ain’t for everyone,” the older woman agreed with a laugh. “The name’s Ann Mulaney,” she introduced herself, extending a hand towards Eugene. He took it, but was not so forthcoming with his own name.

“Pleased to meet you,” he just said, and struggled to contain a wince as she squeezed his hand hard and her cheerful smile fell away to a frown. Seemingly bothered by his reticence, she ordered another drink for herself before trying to wrangle more information out of him.

“Where you from?” she asked.

“Oregon,” he replied. He was saved from too much more probing when the bell above the door rang. Eugene forced his head not to whip around in fear that it was his tail, instead keeping his eyes fixed ahead. Ann had a better view of the door from her seat, and so she was the one to call out.

“Hey Kit!” Only then did Eugene allow himself to look. Carson looked like his pictures, if a little grayer on top. He was still tall and lean though, and carried himself with the confidence of a man who knew everyone was looking up to him. “This kid says Scott Peters sent him over with a message.”

"Yeah?" The retired time scout said. Two long strides brought him from the door to stand behind the stools where his friend sat with a stranger. He rested a hand casually on Eugene’s shoulder, and the younger man had only a second to think that the getsure seemed out of character with everything he’d heard about the older gentleman before he felt the telltale jab of a muzzle under his ribs. Sneaking a glance down, he identified it as one of the Webleys Ann had been wearing. He must’ve snuck it out of her holster while Eugene had been distracted by the casual touch.

“Now,” Kit said in a low voice, leaning in close by the younger man's ear. “I know that Scott is dead, so you better explain what you’re doing here real fast.” The gun aimed at his stomach effectively communicated the "or else" side of the threat.

“I need your help,” Eugene said, putting his hands on the counter and carefully not moving another muscle. "The downtimers on TT-17 are in danger, and before he died, Scott said that you might be one of the only people on earth with both the will and ability to get us out of it."

"Us?" Kit asked, sliding into the empty seat between Eugene and Ann. He kept the weapon carefully aimed throughout the movement.

"The other downtimers and I."

"Where and when are you from, and how did you know Scott?"

"Great Depression era Oregon, and he was teaching me to scout."

"A downtimer?" Kit actually sounded surprised. "You legally aren't allowed to pass through any gate, much less an unexplored one. Why would he take you on as a student?"

"He thought I showed promise. I was just a kid when I came to Seventeen, and grew up more there than downtime. Picked up languages like a fish to water and learned how to pass as an uptimer, even though I'd never been, and how to blend in well. Good skills for a scout, Scott said."

Kit seemed to accept that explanation and moved on. "How did he die? The official story I got from the station is that a young downtimer, whose description matches your appearance, killed him before escaping uptime."

"That's bullshit," Eugene couldn't help but snarl. "Scott was the closest thing I had to family. It was station security themselves that killed him."

"Station security? Kid, you ain't making a lot of sense here."

"Scott was caught trying to smuggle downtimers out of the station. He’d been helping us since the killings started.”

"Killings? Stop, go back to the beginning of the story. Start with your name.”

"Eugene," the nervous young man said and took a deep breath. "About two weeks ago, downtimers started going missing. Now, we aren't as organized as the Found Ones are here, but there's a lot of us, and it became clear pretty quickly that they weren’t just going missing, but being killed, and that station management was responsible."

"Why?" Kit Carson interrupted, and Eugene shrugged against the hand that still held onto his shoulder.

"Because they can and it's convenient," he said. "Seventeen is an old but small station, with a lot of downtimers for its size. There isn't enough work for all of us and the cheap housing is all overfilled. We’ve never had a great relationship with station management, and I think they finally just decided they'd rather not deal with us anymore. Since the only way we can legally leave the terminal is in body bags, that meant killing any downtimer they could get their hands on. We have no legal rights or recourse, of course, and nobody famous like Ianira Cassondra to act as spokeswoman. The security forces have been disguising their murders to look like downtimer gang violence, even though we’ve always been peaceful before. Its convincing enough for the tourists, and most station residents are content to look the other way. Almost everyone who was inclined to help had been threatened with deportation or death to persuade them otherwise. Scott was the only one who wouldn’t play along.”

“And they killed him for it,” Ann guessed, piping up from the other side of Kit. Eugene startled for a second, as he hadn’t realized that she had been listening. Scanning around quickly, he noticed the downtime barmaid Molly also hovering nearby. She seemed casual, pretending to clean an already spotless glass, but her rigid posture belied her fear and he knew that she was listening.

“Yeah. He had been helping us buy tickets and get IDs to get off station, mostly through downtime gates on tours. It was only a stop-gap measure, he knew, as soon enough they’d have to come back to the station. Once as many of them were safely hidden as we could manage, the two of us were gonna get out through Primary and try to get uptime help. Little did we know, they’d already identified him as a conspirator, and hit him in his apartment the day before we were supposed to leave.” Eugene had to pause for a moment and clear his throat before he could move on. “Now that Scott is dead, nobody else on station will dare to help. I couldn’t get everyone into hiding before I had to flee myself, and I fear any downtimer left on Seventeen is dead already. There’s still hope for the ones off on tours, if we can get back there before they do.”

There was a click as Kit re-secured the safety before handing it back to Ann. 

"That's a helluva story, kid," the retired time scout sighed. "I don’t think you could have made it up if you tried. Call me crazy but I believe it. I don’t think you could’ve come up with something quite so wild if you tried. It makes a lot more sense, too, than the official story about a scout getting caught in the middle of random downtimer violence. God, I need a drink.” He raised his hand, and Molly poured him out a shot of firewater. He downed it in a single shot without so much as a grimace. “Bull Morgan and Ronnie are gonna be horrified when they hear about this.”

“An’ the Foun' Ones,” Molly added, giving away that she’d been listening.

“Anyone with a conscience would be,” Ann growled. She seemed hopping mad already.

“So you’ll help?” Eugene asked. Hope flared in his chest for the first time since Scott.

“Yeah, kid, of course we’ll help," Kit agreed. "I’ll call a meeting at the Neo Edo, invite everyone I think can be of assistance.” Not wasting any time, he pulled a small walkie-talkie out of his pocket. “Skeeter?”

“Yeah boss?” a staticy voice responded from the other side.

“I need you to find Ianira and get her to call an emergency meeting of the Council of Seven at the Neo Edo.”

“What’s the danger?”

“Complicated. It’s not on station, but they will want to know about it.”

“Alright, I’m on it.”

Slipping the walkie back into his pocket, Kit turned to the weapon’s expert beside him. “Ann-”

“I’ll grab Sven and the other Eighty-Sixers in here that I think will help,” she finished for him. It was clear that they both had plenty of experience in emergency planning. “You two off to see Bull Morgan?”

“You guessed it,” Kit agreed. “Molly, put it all on my tab, I’ll settle up later.” The towntime barmaid nodded, clearly understanding the urgency of their other business. “C’mon kid, we’re in for a rough conversation.”

The tall man stood up, a tiny crick in his knees the only indication of his age. Eugene followed him out of the bar and into the now twilight streets of Little Agora. There were far fewer people milling about than when he’d gone into the bar, which made it terrifyingly obvious when his tail spotted him. They weren’t exactly subtle about it.

“There!” one of the men in rumpled suits shouted from only about twenty feet away down the street, pointing over at him. Kit, who must’ve been losing his instincts since he retired, hesitated, while Eugene, who had never fully relaxed in the past four days, was instantly prepared. The security officer’s pointing lost him critical seconds he could have used to draw his gun, and the scout-in-training was on him before he could even get it out of his holster, much less fire it. He brought a knee up into the man’s stomach first thing, knocking the wind out of him and setting him off balance. It would’ve been a cinch for Eugene to throw him to the cobblestones, had he not been distracted by a shot hitting the wall behind him. 

Head snapping up, his eyes focussed on his other pursuer. He ducked as another bullet was sent his way, before Kit Carson kicked the weapon from the gunman’s hand and tossed him over his shoulder into a fishpond. 

The first man tackled Eugene while his attention was elsewhere. He barked his chin on the cobblestones, and just barely avoided being trapped beneath the man’s greater weight. Without weapons, the resulting fight was bare-fisted and brutal. Eugene had grown-up getting into scraps and knew how to handle himself in a fight, even though Scott hadn’t yet gotten around to teaching him much aikido. He was smaller than the other man though, and exhausted from being on the run. Fewer hits connected with him than he delivered to the security officer, but he took them harder. His right eye was rapidly swelling shut and there were bruises peppered up and down his ribs by the time the local station security finally showed up. Being tackled to the ground didn’t help none either, nor did being handcuffed and nearly arrested.

“He’s a downtimer, escaped!” the other security officer shouted as he was similarly treated. Eugene himself stayed quiet, knowing he couldn’t defend himself and would only sound pathetic if he complained. Turns out, he didn’t have to defend himself, as he had someone to do it for him.

“The kid is with me, guys,” Kit Carson piped up, jogging over on his long legs from where another officer was dragging the second assailant from the fish pond. “These men attacked him, he ain't a threat."

“You sure, Mr. Carson?” one of the security officers, a young one, asked.

"I'm sure Pip. Let him go. We'll follow you along to explain it all to Bull." Eugene found the handcuffs being taken off, and slowly got to his feet. Pip and the other security officers dragged their rouge colleagues away to the brig, ignoring their shouting about how they were just enforcing the law. Eugene andKirt Carson hung back until they were about twenty feet ahead and then followed at pace.

“Next time, kid, it might be nice to tell me if you’ve got assassins on your tail before they start shooting at us,” the old man grumbled.

“Sorry. I thought I’d lost them,” Eugene replied. Despite the criticism and the new black eye he sported, he couldn't keep a small smile off of his face. Now he was the one following the men that had been dogging his steps for the better part of the last week. Finally he could relax a little and maybe even get some proper rest.

“Well, it was nice work taking them out,” Carson acquiesced. "Scott wasn't wrong about you showing promise. Survive long enough, and you might yet become a scout.”

With those encouraging notes, the retired scout and the scout in training stepped into the security office of TT-86 and towards the promise of safety.

**Author's Note:**

> Please drop a comment if you have any feelings about this fic or about the Time Scout Series. I don't have anyone to talk to about it :(


End file.
